Blondes are Better
by Nanatsusaya
Summary: A collection of Gojyo x Sanzo drabbles.
1. Blondes are Better

"We go together real good, baby..." Gojyo breathed the heady scent of sandalwood shampoo, ginger perfume. Lithe neck curved up to sharp jaw and golden blonde cloud. Women or men, human or youkai, just as long as it was blonde and supple. Broad, calloused hands snagged silky fabric as they slid to rest on ample chest, freezing in place with the slamming door.

"Who's she?"

Sanzo was livid, Gojyo winced. "It's not what it looks like. Think of it as a handshake. A…boob handshake." As the harisen came down on his head, he realized the error in his playboy ways.


	2. Six AM

Genjyo Sanzo woke up sometime in the middle of the night, or at least he thought it was the middle of the night. Hard to tell with the blinds mired shut in these four-hour motels with more roaches than guests. Speaking of roaches, the antennae of his traveling companion were sprawled haphazard over the one itty-bitty table in the room, surround by a dissolute mess of beer cans and pizza remains. Gojyo was awake…barely. Drunken stupor might be a better description. "Hey, kappa…what time is it?"

"Sex in the morning," the redhead mumbled, half conscious and grinning.

"I hate you."


	3. Innuendo

Gojyo couldn't understand why Sanzo didn't want to taste his cucumber. Muttering about 'inappropriate behaviour' and 'lewd conduct', the monk had taken his newspaper into another room.

"...What cucumber?" was Sanzo's reaction when he saw no vegetables.

"Hold on, it's in my pants," he had replied. That's when Sanzo turned six shades of angry and left. Gojyo was alone to enjoy his cucumber, which wasn't half bad, perhaps. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the crisp, fresh vegetable and took a big bite. To kappas, even half kappas, cucumbers were like chocolate; Sanzo didn't know what he was missing.


	4. Crickets

Sanzo had a (very) long list of things he hated - whining, artichokes, Gojyo, to name a few. At night he often tallied how many items he'd encountered throughout the day. Tonight, the total was fifteen, upped to seventeen with the inclusion of the cricket choir preventing sleep. Perhaps he'd have better luck in the boiling shack, though loathe to loose the breeze.

Inside, nearly every space was taken by the tangled limbs of his companions, save for a tiny place next to Gojyo, who patted the spot grinning sleepily.

Sanzo turned on his heel; he'd rather have the crickets.


	5. Lemon Verbena

Gojyo had always fancied that Sanzo's brilliant hair would smell something like lemon verbena

Gojyo had always fancied Sanzo's brilliant hair would smell something like lemon verbena. When they lived together before the journey west, Hakkai bought imported milled soaps in that scent for their sink, and he had grown unnaturally fond of it. (He would never admit that he knew, lest he appear un-masculine.)

Alas, Gojyo was disappointed to discover the monk's hair smelled mostly of dust and stale tobacco when he finally got close enough to find out. But the events that followed were more than enough to make up for it, Gojyo remembered with a smug smile around his cigarette.


	6. Cryptic

There was something about Gojyo's gaze - the sinister color of his eyes, the way they seemed to linger in all the wrong places

There was something about Gojyo's gaze - the sinister color of his eyes, the way they seemed to linger in all the wrong places – that was unsettling and obscene to Sanzo. A gaze that made his skin prickle and crawl with gooseflesh. The feeling stuck to him longer than he cared to consider the possibilities. Especially when he was trying to read the paper and noticed with a start the redhead's unctuous interest in his person.

"…What the hell?" Sanzo growled.

Gojyo was being cryptic, despite the demand in the monk's voice. "How do you feel about giant squid?"


	7. Gray Hairs

That morning Sanzo discovered a gray hair. It was the stubborn kind that was extra thick and wiry, with slight kinks and an aptitude for pointing stiffly upward exactly where he least wanted it. He glared at the mirror as if it was the fault of that innocuous rectangular object placed over the sink, winding the hair between his thumb and forefinger, poised to pull. His scalp tingled in anticipation of the yank he was mentally preparing for. One...two...three...

Yet, he stopped and released the captive gray strand. Mighty Sanzo would not succumb to vanity. Instead, he named it Gojyo.


	8. Debonair

"Damn," Gojyo breathed into the mirror, turning his head side to side in the hopes it would disappear from a different angle. But no matter the light, the angle, or how much he squinted it was there like an unwanted scar on his right antennae – the gray hair. He paused to reconsider.

Sleek and smooth and glistening it was, like his first (very rose-tinted) memory of Sanzo's bare thighs. And Gojyo smiled – a crooked, roguish smile – at his reflection. One isilver/i hair was very debonair, befitting the self-proclaimed legendary playboy. Cocky and reassured, he left the bathroom. "Oi, Sanzo~"


End file.
